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brethren and charge them with occasioning their misery. It often happened that the rich patrician had stood

had built up this estate. The training | which was always one of their seducing to which the children of patricians were charms. The Marangona had long subjected in the eighteenth century did ceased to be an integral part of the life not fit them for noble deeds. The do- of the city. The arsenals, once SO mestics were their humble servants thronged by operatives, began to prefrom the time they could stammer a sent the melancholy appearance of debidding. They spoilt them to the utter-sertion and supersession which they most; nor was this counterbalanced at maintained until Italy became united all by the rigorous show of respect under Victor Emanuel. It was all the which it behoved them to pay their par- poorer people could do to keep body ents. Playing cards, with the letters of and soul together. Indeed, many patrithe alphabet stamped upon them, taught cians whose names had for centuries them the rudiments of their education. been honored in Venetian history were At the age of seven or thereabouts a obliged after a ceremonial show in the priestly tutor (more often than not a streets or at the ducal palace to return Jesuit) took them in hand; and they to a simple meal of watermelons in were hardly in their teens before they their great houses, which they had not were knee-deep in the dissolute pleas- the means to keep up. The poor did ures of the Ridotto and the private not, as in France, hate their richer gaming-houses. As children they were taught the arts of ceremony. The boys wore swords, and made fine speeches to girls who were hardly more than godfather to the child of the starving babies. They comported themselves for all the world like the porcelain statuettes which the china factories used to be so fond of turning out. Thus they qualified themselves for the career of negligent husband or of cicisbeo, almost the only one that remained for them. The paintings of Tiepolo have a char-century twenty-eight thousand pieces acter worthy of the age in which they were wrought. No man ever depicted ballet girls and angels with more grace. The mind is theatrically ravished by some of his frescoes. It does not matter whether they decorate the ceilings of churches or of private palaces; in either case they produce the same effect. Even when he is scriptural he was convicted of embezzling 5,974 recalls the Alhambra rather than the New Testament. In all probability he could not help himself. Even as Veronese objectifies for us Venice of his century, be his subject what it may, so Tiepolo does the same. If masks were put upon his angels and his nymphs could strike harmonies from the musical instruments with which he furnished them, Venice of the middle of the eighteenth century would be brought home to us with complete force.

Though impoverished and undermined in spirit, there yet remained to the Venetians much of the amiability

mechanic. This was an indefeasible bond of sympathy between them. If the patrician could help the other, he might be relied on to do it. Industry of all kinds languished. The glass works of Murano lost their long established importance In the sixteenth

of cloth were made in the city; towards the end of the eighteenth century the amount was only eight hundred pieces. The people shrugged their shoulders and smiled. Their decadence was pitiable; yet they could not but acknowledge that it was inevitable. In 1757 the clerk of the controller of the Mint

ducats of State money.
This was a
particularly grave crime. Nevertheless,
when it was known that the man had a
destitute family, charity boxes were set
in the churches in their behalf, and six-
teen thousand lire, or more than £600,
was thus collected for them. This is a
trait of the age worth recording.

"It was a time of noisy festivals and dull curses, of latent misery and ostentatious munificence, of elegant immorality and open hypocrisy." Perhaps. Venice was never more alluring than when the Venetians lived and moved in it like the people in Watteau's pic

From Blackwood's Magazine.
IN LURID LIGHT.
CHAPTER I.

tures, when Goldoni was writing im- | throw of the prison in which Carmortal comedies at £12 apiece, when magnola himself, three centuries and a the Ridotto was daily thronged with half before, was deprived of both liberty patricians and strangers, when the ca- and life by the Venetian Senate. nals were first lighted with torches in CHARLES EDWARDES. iron sconces, and when France was beginning that upheaval which was to result, among much else, in the overthrow of the Lion of St. Mark. Senatorial work had become a mere farce. The councillors, like the rest of the city who could afford it, lived for pleasure, not business. Motions were read and confirmed all in a breath. This done, the Venetian oligarchs sighed with relief and fell to talking about their love affairs and evening engagements. It was significant that while public gambling lasted, at the Ridotto a patrician sat at the head of each of the ten tables and showed the notes and gold with which he was ready to play against all comers. The only condition he made was that players should be either patricians like himself or masked. In the evening the younger nobles amused themselves for an hour or two at the theatre. Here their behavior was not always worthy of their gentle origin and polite upbringing. We read that they took pride in spitting from their boxes upon the heads and shoulders of the people in the pit. Conduct of this kind, however, was, of course, exceptional.

THOUGH only an hour's rail journey from Paris, the village of Dubourg still nestles in all its rural beauty by the banks of the placid Oise. From Dubourg the river flows on peacefully to quaint Pontoise, passing on its way poor hamlets and charming villas, surrounding in its sweeping curves picturesque islands, and helping to give indescribable pleasure to hundreds of devoted fishermen, who may always in summer time be seen, rod in hand, waiting patiently for a welcome jerk at the other extremity of the line.

But Dubourg differs from most of the other hamlets on the Oise in that its houses are grander, its gardens more cared for and more highly cultivated, whilst its gently rising hill is crowned by an old Norman church, now too large for its few worshippers.

On summer evenings the young men and the girls come down to the riverside, and sit on the banks idly watching Such was Venice when the end came. the currents and the pleasure boats; or The last doge, a poor, weak fellow, else they plunge into some near copse, bowed the head to Napoleon when the and there find enough amusement and demand was made. He called it "res-pleasure in tender, mutual passages, the ignation to the Divine will;" a con-language of the eye, or the more engenial euphemism. On the 12th May, trancing language of the lips. Thus 1797, of five hundred and forty-seven the hours fly like single minutes, and members of the Great Council, only thirty made a stand against Napoleon's request that the government should be changed. Thus the oligarchy died. A brief dramatic frenzy took the people when they learnt what had happened. They mutilated the winged lion of St. Mark and burned the Golden Register and ducal standards in the Piazza of St. Mark, while "a knot of half-naked women danced the carmagnola" round the tree of liberty. This was notably appropriate; for it was within a stone's about her.

heaven appears within easy reach; yet Milton made a mistake in describing hell as being far away from heaven; he should have placed only a narrow gulf, if a deep one, between them, for sometimes those who are living in a heaven of love find that it needs but one step to pass the boundary.

At least, at Dubourg they would say so if you mentioned the name of Margot Gérard; and this is the story, stranger than fiction, which they will tell you

fiercer and more animal character, MarOn a certain bright summer's even- got Gérard might have loved and lived ing, when the sun was setting in red like any other French girl of her class; splendor behind the tower of Dubourg but there was that brutal, obstinate, dechurch, Margot was standing with her termined father always there, always back against an oak-tree. She was very ready to thwart both wife and daughter; beautiful, but of that type of beauty and gradually Margot learned that her which often fails to attract vulgar admi- | own heart contained both good and evil ration. Tall, exquisitely proportioned, in strongly marked contrast.

with a head well poised on her rounded neck, and with a freedom of limb and movement found usually in the highly cultivated, though occasionally in its most perfect form in the uncultivated classes.

Margot's father was neither rich nor poor. He was the innkeeper of Dubourg-a stern, ill-tempered man, but honest as far as money transactions were concerned, and therefore respected for this virtue by the neighbors, who did not see him when he was exercising marital or parental authority.

If M. Gérard was obeyed, well and good; if he was thwarted, then there was the devil to pay.

Madame Gérard had long ago found out that submission was her lot, but the more the meek woman gave in, the more her tyrant bullied her. She was his by the law of the land; his to force into his grooves; his to mould into one shape, and, if he liked, to remould into another. But because Philibert Gérard had bent that poor sapling his wife, he concluded he could do the same by his daughter, who was also his sole property, his chattel, his plaything, his ser

vant.

Through her childhood Margot had thought the same, because she had grown up under her mother's teaching; but gradually the girl became conscious of a change in her ideas. She asked herself the question why. Why was she to be a slave to her father's imperious will? Why was her life and her mother's life to be made utterly wretched by the domineering temper of a man, even if that man were her father?

Margot being the product of two natures, something of Philibert's determination mingled with the patience of the mother. Had nothing called out the

It was the day her father raised his hand to strike that meek possession, his wife, that Margot discovered the strength of her passion. Philibert was not given to striking, being better able to enjoy inflicting mental torture; but on this special occasion he raised his hand, not deigning to notice that his daughter was standing close to her mother.

Suddenly, as his hand descended, Margot sprang forward and stood up with flashing eyes in front of her mother. The blow fell on the girl's shoulder. She did not feel the bodily pain, but suddenly the revolt of her whole mental nature was completed.

"Lâche!" she cried, "if you must strike some one, strike me; I am strong."

Philibert remained staring stupidly at this picture of enraged girlhood, and for the first time he realized fully that this child of his, this Margot, was very beautiful, and that she was now a woman. Whilst the girl was debating what her father would do next, he was thinking, "She is a handsome girl. She must marry le vieux Tanier; he is the richest man about here, and he will be only too glad, the old rascal, to get such a wife, for the pretty widow at Pontoise jilted him the other day. I have a good idea this time, but he must pay me well for it."

Aloud he said, and laughed, yes, actually laughed as he spoke, "Get along with you, Margot; this is not your business."

The evil look in Margot's eyes grew more intense.

"You shall not bully me as you have always bullied my mother," she said, throwing back her head, whilst the light through the venetian blind fell on the great coils of shining hair, that looked

like a nest of black snakes. enough now to defend her and myself too."

"I am bigbert's merriment. "Look here, mother; Gabriel Renon came last night to ask me if I would be his wife; he wants to ask my father. I told him

"Fool," muttered Philibert; "if you want to insult some one, I'll find you a husband; try it on him when you are married, and then see how you succeed." After this reply M. Gérard walked back to the public room, spoke civilly to his customers, and inquired for the last news from the town.

"Pontoise is dead alive," said one; "I wonder it does not drop asleep altogether."

"Monsieur Tanier has just settled to buy Maison Rouge, near the church here," added another. "That artist from Paris has become bankrupt, so le vieux Tanier has got it cheap. He must buy a wife now, sapristi!"

"So he must," said Philibert, laughing, and looking out of the corner of his small, cunning eyes; "but in these days wives are dear to buy, the ladies know too well how rich he is."

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"Hush, child, he is thy father; a few tears fell on Margot's black coils of hair.

"My father I know; but he made me feel so wicked-oh, so wicked!"

Madame Gérard was not able to understand the girl's feelings. She only wanted to quiet her, and make her patient as she herself was patient.

"You should not have stood up against him, my child. Some men are like that; but you must marry a good husband, Margot, and then perhaps you will be happier than I have been. You are nearly eighteen, my poor Margot; but you stayed too long at the convent, where they know nothing of real life. Yes, women must be patient-it is God's will."

"God's will!" laughed Margot, and her laughter had a far-off echo of Phili

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"Mon Dieu, Margot! what are you saying? Gabriel must wait. If thy father were asked straight off he would say no. We must go gently to work; he must get accustomed to the idea; but, oh, child, do you love Gabriel? ”

"Love Gabriel! Mother, why do you ask? You know we have always loved each other, you know it; he says ever since we were children he meant to make me his wife; we have cared for no one else; why should my father object?"

"Gabriel is not rich, Margot; his father will not give him his boat business till he dies; now he only works for wages."

"Rich! What do I care about money? Father is not poor, and does that make you happy? We have plenty to eat, and we can each wear a silk dress on Sunday, but where is happiness in this house? At least Gabriel will never beat me."

Margot stood up proudly now, and her face was lit up for a moment with a beautiful look of young love, a love which trusts and believes so much, and which imagines that strong will can conquer destiny and can bend fate.

"Be patient, Margot," said Madame Gérard, taking up her needlework with a sigh; "I will see what your father says about Gabriel. You are still young, and the good God knows everything, and all that befalls us is his will."

But Margot belonged to young France; she never openly said so, but she no longer believed in Le Bon Dieu, as did her mother. All her life at home she had lived in fear of her father; she had dreaded his footstep; she had learnt to hide all joy from him for fear he should take it away; she had hated to feel this fear, and now she longed for deliverance. If the curé who preached obedience to parents had not likened God's love to a father's affection, then Margot might have believed in Le Bon Dieu, as did her mother; but this being the case, Margot rejected the curé's

arguments as unsound, and would not to-night; the visitors were quarrelling believe in a higher power who could for them an hour ago." interfere with her unrealized hopes. Her mother was a very faithful daughter of the Church, she never missed the services, and was always praying; but what good, Margot argued, had all this done her?

Philibert wished to stand well with the curé, and so liked his wife and daughter to go to church. He said it gave him the benefit of devotion without the trouble of it.

Thus Philibert, who encouraged secret gambling, stood well with the world and the Church.

Up till now he had kept Margot in proper seclusion. She had stayed at the convent longer than most girls. Since her return home she had never been seen in the public room, but on .the day when Margot received the blow for her mother, Philibert said to himself," M. Tanier will come and play at cards to-morrow evening; then I shall tell Margot to take him his petit verre, sapristi!"

"I don't want a pleasure boat. I'm going into the woods to get some herbs for my mother. How lovely the river is this evening, Joseph !" Margot leaned over the boat and gazed at the rippling water with a look of passionate admiration, because her thoughts were chiefly occupied with Gabriel, and almost before Joseph touched the opposite bank the girl sprang out lightly. With a nod and a smile she gave him her sou and hurried along the footpath; then she began running till she was well out of sight of Dubourg, and following the bend of the river, she at last reached a thick hazel-copse.

Now she heaved a sigh of relief; in another moment she descended the bank and found there what she expected to find, Gabriel's little pleasure boat, and Gabriel himself, resting on his oars and watching for her. In a moment he was standing up ready to give her a hand; as he did so their heads bent towards each other and their lips met.

Before to-morrow, however, was today; and for young people to-day some- "Gabriel!" she said, under her times means an eternity of happiness. breath. This one word was all she To Margot it meant a prearranged meet- could utter; it seemed to come from ing with Gabriel, for when Philibert her very soul and to give her infinite was playing cards his wife and daughter could breathe freely; it was their little foretaste of heaven, and heaven to Madame Gérard meant uneventful and uninterrupted peace and no Philibert.

rest.

"Ma chèrie," he answered, watching her as she seized the oars and pulled straight out towards a small, wooded island which lay opposite, and which was called by the peasants l'Ile-de-Veau. "Let me row," said Gabriel softly. "No, no, I like the exercise, it does good; but tell me, Gabriel, have you really got an hour? Your people won't come back sooner?"

To Margot it meant on this particular evening a hurried walk down to the river, where the ferryman was waiting to take over the passengers. Dubourg me had lately lost its bridge, and the rebuilding of the fallen fabric was a serious consideration.

The old boatman nodded and smiled at Margot, thinking how pretty Philibert's daughter looked in her large Tuscan hat with red poppies.

"You want to take a walk on the other side, Mam'sel Margot; it's a beautiful evening certainly."

66 Take me over quickly, Joseph; don't wait for any one else." "M'sieu Renon's got all his boats out VOL. LXXX, 4142

LIVING AGE.

"An hour for certain."

"An hour! how quickly it goes! and I have so much to say."

66

Margot, tell me, what does your mother say?"

"She says, patience. I hate patience. What has it given to her? Nothing but misery."

Gabriel was a tall, fine, handsome young man, with the gentlest expression on his face. He was deeply in love,

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